Even If He Doesn't Know What Caviar Looks Like
by 221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: Sherlock is very displeased when Mummy invites him and John to the annual Christmas Party. He is even more displeased when he finds out why.


"Here you are." Sherlock placed the plate in front of John before turning and sitting beside him.

"Oh, thank God, I'm starving." John groaned, immediately digging in.

"Your welcome." Sherlock chuckled, shaking his head at him.

"So," John started, voice muffled by his mouthful. "How did your exam go?"

"Fine. No surprises." Sherlock replied with a shrug.

"That's good." John nodded. "You good to come to Molly's Christmas party this weekend?"

"Yes." Sherlock sighed.

"You're excited, and you know it." John told him, pointing his fork at Sherlock accusingly.

"If by " _excited"_ you mean " _dreading it with every breath"_ then yes, I am excited." Sherlock quipped, smirking when John rolled his eyes.

"Mail came today." He announced, moving onto a less controversial topic.

"Any for me?" Sherlock asked.

"I think so." John rose from his chair, moving out of view for a moment, before reappearing with a small stack of letters. "Bill, Christmas card, bill, bill, another Christmas card, oh, here we are." John set the letter in front of Sherlock. "I think it's from your mum."

Sherlock groaned loudly, but opened it regardless, ignoring John's snort of laughter. He scanned the words, eyebrows climbing higher and higher with each sentence. "Crap."

"What does it say?"

" _Dear Sherlock, your father and I can't wait to see you again for our annual Christmas celebration. We have learned from Mycroft that you have moved in with a new man. We insist that you bring him for the week, we would love to meet him! Make sure he has the appropriate formal wear for the party! I can't meet him. -Your mother."_

"Well, Shit."

"You know, you didn't have to do this." Sherlock insisted, looking sideways at John, still unsure whether or not he actually wanted to be there.

"I know, Sherlock. Whether you believe me or not, I actually wanted to come." John replied, looking Sherlock in the eye.

"Are you sure?" He asked, not quite convinced.

"Of course! I've never met your parents, and I _am_ your flatmate. It's about time we were introduced." John assured him.

"But wouldn't you rather be with your own family? It _is_ Christmas." Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, you and I both know that the chances of me having a family Christmas that I would _actually_ enjoy is about as likely as the chance Mycroft hasn't been recording this conversation."

"You're… Not incorrect." Sherlock sighed. "And, by the way, I would like to take this opportunity to tell Mycroft to piss off."

"Yeah, Mycroft, fuck off. Don't you have a country to run?" John joined in. Sherlock could just imagine the affronted look on Mycroft's fat face, Sherlock sniggering at the image. "So… How far away are we, exactly?"

"I'm not sure. Lawrence, how far away are we?" Sherlock asked, calling through the privacy partition to their driver.

"Nearly ten miles out, sir." He replied.

"Sherlock turned and smiled at John. "We're nearly there."

When the estate came into view, Sherlock wasn't sure what to expect. He definitely hadn't been expecting to be met by uproarious cheers as he and John exited the car, stretching their cramped legs.

"Oh, _Sherlock_. I'm so glad you're here." Mummy gushed, embracing him in a hug he struggled to get out of.

"Yes, hello, mummy. I am here, and so is-"

" _John!_ " She gushed, rushing to him now, although he accepted her hug much more willingly. "Goodness Sherlock, haven't you found quite the man? Your father was too scared to admit it, but I do believe you've found yourself a keeper!"

"A what?" Sherlock asked, perplexed.

"Oh, don't be she why with me. You know full well that I would find out soon enough that my little boy had started dating. Especially such a fine man as this." Mummy patted John's cheek fondly.

"Dating?" John squeaked.

"Of course. I knew Sherlock would find himself a man eventually! And all I can truly say is: Welcome to the family."

Well, shit.

"O-oh. Yes. Yes, I-I just didn't know whether Sherlock had told you or not. I didn't w-want to upset him by telling you about…us?" John's face had gotten very pale, very quickly.

"Oh, don't worry, it's fine. Sherlock didn't even need to tell me, I'd always known, but it was nice of him to confirm it when he did." Mummy laughed as if this wasn't a very serious matter. "Honestly, he was so nervous I'm sure he almost fainted."

Sherlock was beginning to remember that feeling with startling clarity.

"Really? Sherlock?" John smirked at him like this wasn't a deeply uncomfortable moment. Why was John even buying into this? He didn't have to pretend, Sherlock could easily tell mummy the truth.

"Oh, he was very different back then, tended to let his heart hold the reins a bit more. Of course, we know that doesn't happen so much anymore. But I guess that's our Sherlock!" Mummy burst, smiling happily at John.

"Yeah, that's our Sherlock." John took Sherlock's hand then. It felt weird.

Just weird, not good weird. Shut up.

"John, it is completely unnecessary to keep up this pretense. Mummy should know better than to make assumptions just because we're living together." Sherlock tried, speaking freely in the relief of their room. The room only had one bed, however, and Sherlock was fairly certain that his mother was purposefully hinting at them. Really, the woman was obscene. He'd had to suffer through a lot more hand-holding as they showed John through the house, and John kept leaning on his shoulder like Sherlock was a pole. When Sherlock had told him this, John found it funny. Sherlock was not amused.

"Look, Sherlock, I get that I don't have to do this. Nobody's pressuring me here. I want to." John sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Your mum just looked so happy to see you with me. My folks never looked like that when I brought guys over. Let me… Let me just do this. Please?"

Sherlock gulped under the assault of John's puppy dog eyes. Damn those things. So bright and blue, curse his perfect genes. "Fine. But when it gets too much, I'm calling it off."

"Don't you mean _if ?_ " John asked.

"Oh, believe me, I mean when." Sherlock assured him. There was no way in hell that this would end well.

" _Oh, boys!_ " Mummy called, her voice rising in a sing-song tone. "I hope you're dressed! The party's just about to start."

"We're coming, mother." Sherlock groaned, adjusting his tie.

"You look fine." John grouched, helping to straighten the blasted thing.

"Easy for you to say. Mummy loves you." Sherlock grumbled, crossing his arms.

"I'm sure she's only making an effort with me because she loves you." John replied.

"You are very annoying, so I suppose it makes sense." Sherlock allowed, grinning when John rolled his eyes..

"Oh, shut it." John mock-shoved him. "C'mon, Sparky, trouble awaits." John grinned, took him by the hand _(again)_ and led him down the stairs. Sherlock gulped, looking at their joined hands. This was going to be a very long night.

"Hello, This is my husband, Jack, my eldest son, Mycroft, my youngest son, Sherlock, and his boyfriend, John."

"Hello, This is my husband, Jack, my eldest son, Mycroft, my youngest son, Sherlock, and his boyfriend, John."

The speech was repeated and repeated, followed by courses of polite "Hello"s and "How are you this evening?"s. Sherlock found himself constantly fidgeting, unable to stay still. John's hand had remained firmly clasped in his the entire time, but Sherlock was struggling, growing more and more bored with every pleasantry, every half-hearted attempt at conversation.

"Don't worry, dear, it's almost over." Mummy whispered to him through her gritted smile. Huh. Perhaps she understood just how menial this all was. Sherlock sighed and strengthened himself to power through the remaining guests. It wasn't so bad though when John ended up mistaking him for a pole again.

When, finally, everyone had arrived, Sherlock and John were released into the ballroom, with the strict instruction to be as polite as possible.

"And don't be shy together!" Mummy added. "I won't have homophobia in this house and should anyone be so crass and insulting, I shall cast them out." Although the defense was entirely unneeded, Sherlock found himself appreciating the sentiment all the same.

"What the hell are those?" John whispered in his ear, pressing himself against Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock felt slightly nauseous at the touch but let it stay to continue the charade. He followed John's pointing finger catching sight of one of the waiter's trays.

"Honestly John? How have you not heard of caviar?" Sherlock asked shaking his head, in mock disappointment.

"Okay then, smart guy. I dare you to name all the appetizers." John smiled smugly folding his arms.

"Actually, John, it's _Hors D'oeuvres._ " Sherlock corrected.

"Whatever, just tell me what the are."

"Well, John, we have Pate, Foie Gras, Escargot, Carpaccio, Verrine, Charcuterie, and, finally, Oysters. Something I'm sure you're very familiar with." Sherlock smirked.

"What are you implying?" John asked raising an eyebrow.

"Just that you know your way around an oyster." Sherlock laughed, shaking his head.

"Well, I gotta say, I don't know half of what you just said." John shook his head.

"Don't worry, this isn't my first rodeo." Sherlock joked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Rodeo? Seriously?" John laughed.

"Ride 'em, cowboy!" Sherlock crowed, he and John collapsing in a bubble of laughter. John steadied himself on Sherlock's shoulders, his hands resting there as his laughter died. John's eyes were there. So blue.

"Sherlock? Why aren't you talking to anyone?" Mummy hissed, moving towards them.

"Do we really have to?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.

"Now, Sherlock, these guests aren't just for me, they're for you too." Mummy chastised.

"But I don't know any of them." Sherlock reasoned.

"Oh, pish posh, dear. This is the _Holmes'_ family Christmas party. Have some familial pride." Mummy admonished, steering John and Sherlock towards the guests.

"Yeah, Sherlock, the _Holmes'_ family Christmas party." John giggled into his ear.

"How much champagne have you had?" Sherlock accused, folding his arms.

"Enough to know I'm hilarious." John grinned back.

"Sure." Sherlock rolled his eyes, only faintly amused by John's antics.

Sherlock allowed John to force him through 3 conversations about expensive cars, 5 about various pets including dogs, cats and a strange cockatoo, and 2 about various surgeries that went "Horribly wrong".

"John, I'm dying." Sherlock groaned, pushing his fingers into his closed eyes in an attempt to erase the last forty minutes.

"You are _fine_ , Sherlock." John rolled his eyes, making to take a sip from his glass but thinking better of it and offering it to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't hesitate before downing it like it was cheap whiskey instead of million dollar french champagne.

"Good evening, distinguished guests," Mummy's voice rose above the chatter, spreading silence throughout the room. "I welcome you all to the Holmes' family Christmas party." Sherlock shot John an annoyed look when he jostled his shoulder. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served!"

The big double doors to the grand dining room opened with a grand flourish. The other guests idly made their way through them, carrying their previous conversations on between them. Mummy came over and directed them to their seats. They were sat together. Surprise, surprise.

"Oh, hello, _Mycroft_." Sherlock snarled when the fat lump dropped down into the seat across from them.

"Yes, hello, brother mine." He replied, smarmy as ever. "I trust you enjoyed your trip?"

"Like you even have to ask." John scoffed, making Sherlock chuckle.

"Yes," Mycroft sneered. "And might I say, I am very unamused at your antics in the car."

"Don't worry," John assured sweetly, "They weren't meant to." Sherlock burst out loudly, quieting quickly when mummy shot him a glare from her position at the head of the table. With a flick of her wrist, the doors opened. Waiters came in laden with food, pausing behind guest's shoulders as they made their way around the room.

As awful as Mummy's dinner parties were, Sherlock couldn't deny that the food was _delicious_.

"Hello sir, would you like the chicken or the fish?"

"Uhh," John shot Sherlock a frightened look and Sherlock stepped into action.

"John will have the lemon chicken, Matthew." Matthew smiled and placed it on John plate before doing the same to Sherlock, knowing Sherlock well enough by now that he detested fish.

"Oh. Thanks." John smiled. "Could you do that with everything that comes by? I just…" John shrugged.

"Sure." Sherlock smiled, pleased that for once his background knowledge of snooty parties was finally coming in handy. "Whatever you do, don't touch anything with "Black" in it. There are five different kinds of potatoes, so only have one or you will be full before you know it."

John nodded seriously, looking around the room at the different dishes the waiters were carrying.

Things went smoothly after that, John seeming to enjoy his dinner thoroughly after Sherlock had directed him to what was best. Boy, could that man eat, shoveling food into his mouth with gusto. Sherlock exercised more restraint, asking for small portions of all his favourite dishes.

Mummy insisted on moving around, talking to everybody, engaging in idle chit-chat about weather and holiday plans. A loud squeal erupted from the group at the far end when mummy pulled out a bunch of mistletoe and waved it above people's heads.

Sherlock's heart dropped as he watched mummy continue around the table, edging closer and closer.

"Uh, John, I think I-"

"Sherlock, you have to try this!" John crowed, pushing something fruity between Sherlock's lips before he could finish his sentence. Sherlock gulped it down quickly, panicking slightly as he saw mummy heading straight for them.

"Thank you, John, but I have to-" Sherlock began making to rise from his seat.

"Sherlock and John!" Mummy crowed, dangling the neatly bundled mistletoe above their heads.

"Oh." John breathed beside him, seeming to get it for once.

Silence hung in the air as the people around them turned in their seats, some craning their neck to watch. Sherlock felt like a lion at the zoo, huffing and rolling his eyes as people stared at him through the bars.

"Go on, boys! Don't be shy!" Mummy encouraged, continuing to dangle the confounded mistletoe above their heads.

Sherlock looked at John. Sherlock should have made him leave, should have insisted, shouldn't have let John's big eyes and winning smile cloud his judgment. This was the mess of his heart got him; five seconds away from kissing his best friend and the sudden realization that he wanted to do it. He actually wanted to do it.

How did Sherlock not see this happening? He had spent so long focusing on his mind, polishing it to perfection. He wasn't meant to be held back like this. But he'd let John slip through the cracks under the hope that he would screw things up again.

It's almost laughable. As if Sherlock could ever not screw up.

John was looking into his eyes like he was about to be sick, casting glances at mummy, his trepidation palpable. He didn't want this. But he was going to do it anyway. Of course, he was. It's John. What else would he do?

John's lips touched Sherlock's, and it was like Sherlock had been shot.

"Sherlock? Where are you going?"

His legs had begun moving on autopilot, steering him away.

"I need some air." Sherlock choked out, and it was a lot truer than he wanted it to be. He went down the main hallway and didn't stop, walking through the front door and down the porch steps. His feet crunched as he made his way into the front gardens, and that was when he looked down and noticed the snow. He cast his eyes up and watched it fall, tiny flakes catching on his eyelids as he blinked.

He walked over and sat on the wrought iron bench, shivering as the cold metal leached the warmth from his clothes. He'd forgotten what it was like, sitting here. It had been his grandmother's bench, originally. Mummy had brought it over after she died. It had fit right in, taking it's new place proudly.

Sherlock wondered if this was where it belonged all along, or if some things can make a home wherever they go.

"Hey, Sherlock."

Sherlock closed his eyes, shutting out the image of the falling snow and reminding himself to breathe.

"I-I… Um, I hope you… I mean, I don't want you to-"

"John." Sherlock spoke.

"Sorry, I get it, you don't want to talk." John huffed, allowing silence to creep back in his place. The sound of John's rustling clothes disrupted it momentarily as he sat down on the bench beside Sherlock. Sherlock opened one eye to get a peek, watching as John licked his lips nervously.

"Sorry for running." Sherlock said at last.

"Don't be. You were uncomfortable, and I kinda forced myself on you." John sighed.

"Oh, trust me, if anything it was mummy forcing us together. She tries her hardest to show she's supportive but I personally think it's overkill." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John snorted, shaking his head out at the snow.

"The-" Sherlock began. Half his most vital organs were at war with each other, his brain saying he should forget matters of the heart, his heart needing to tell John the truth but too afraid to do so, and his brain saying how illogical it was to be scared of such things.

"Yeah?" John prompted.

"The thing is, I wanted our kiss to be real." Sherlock blustered out with the breath he'd been holding. "I wanted it to be real, but I knew it wasn't. That's why I ran. I wanted it to be real." Sherlock was repeating himself, and tears were welling up in his eyes, and he was sure that he was on the verge of another panic attack when John put his hands on his shoulders and everything stopped.

"Sherlock, look at me. _Look at me_. I promise that whenever I kiss you, it will always be real." John said, staring into Sherlock's eyes.

"What?" Sherlock asked, but was cut off when John's lips met his for a second time. He was so surprised, he just stayed frozen for a second, before allowing himself to push into the warmth, moving closer into John's space.

"I love you, Sherlock." John whispered, breaking the kiss.

"I love you too." Sherlock smiled, unable to believe the way things had just unfolded.

"How about we head back inside, though. I'm kinda freezing out here." John shivered in proof.

"Okay." Sherlock acquiesced. They stood together, walking towards the house hand in hand. Sherlock looked down at them and smiled. He should have known it was real the whole time.

"So, what excuse did you tell mummy?" Sherlock asked, nudging John with his shoulder as they went up the steps.

"I just said that you'd already excused yourself to go to the bathroom when she came over and you really needed to go." John answered.

"Did she buy it?" Sherlock asked.

"I have no idea." John shook his head with a smile. "I gotta say, I thought my family Christmases were crazy, but this? How can you stand spending Christmas with so many strangers?

"Well, it's a lot better when my boyfriend's with me." Sherlock smiled, locking eyes with John and nodding to confirm what he'd said. "Even if he doesn't know what caviar looks like."

"Hey!"

Little did the two lovebirds know that through the window, a man watched, smiling pridefully to himself as he was want to do. As far as Mycroft was concerned, this was the best Christmas gift he'd ever given before.


End file.
